Belle and Adam
by lebardetriste
Summary: What if the enchantress never came to the castle? Would they have all lived happily ever after? Belle and Adam's relationship without the spell and the magic rose involved. AU.
1. Boredom

The sun sifted through the curtains and trickled over Adam as he lay in bed. It caught the copper in his hair like a child holding up a penny and cast his smooth skin, toned muscles, and angular contours into sharp relief. Had his companions been awake they would have found him very striking. As it was, they were tangled up in sheets, a shapely stocking clad leg visible here, the comely curve of a bosom exposed there, spent and fully embraced by sleep.

Adam sighed and opened his eyes slowly, squinting in the glare of the sun. His deep blue eyes shone like sapphires in the light before he grunted and turned his face away. He had a headache. He brought his hand to his temples and frowned. Why had they not yet invented a wine that could be ingested in large quantities without any unfortunate side effects the next day? What on Earth were all the vineyards and breweries up to? He thought briefly about who he could command to make such a thing when the Danish Duchess sharing his bed stretched and looked up at him.

"Good morning your highness," she murmured, shifting in bed to lay across his chest, running her fingers over his skin. Adam responded by bringing his hand down to her derriere and cupping it firmly.

"You've exhausted her," Duchess Alida said, looking down at her still slumbering lady-in-waiting with a smile, "She isn't used to a man with your virility."

"You should bring someone with far more stamina next time," Adam responded, a little shortly.

"Well," the duchess responded, frowning slightly, "I'm sure I made up for her shortcomings."

Adam sighed. The talking. He detested this aspect of amorous relations. All the talking. The flattery, the delicacies, the niceties. The talking it took to bed a woman, the talking during, the talking after they woke up. As soon as they opened their eyes in the morning they felt like they shared some kind of connection with him they wanted to explore. Why couldn't these women collect their stays and wigs after he was finished with them and see themselves out?

"You were fine Alexa," Adam answered. The duchess frowned further.

"Alida," she corrected.

"Fine," Adam said again, wondering how he could get this woman to attend to his morning needs before he dispensed with her and her full-chested lady in waiting. He brought his hand under her chin and turned her face upwards so that their eyes met.

"Don't pout," he said and she blinked slowly and dreamily as though his blue eyes cast some sort of spell over her. He tilted his head to the side like he was considering her, "Though it **_is_** an excellent way for you to show off those beautiful lips."

"Your highness is too kind," she mumbled, blushing. Adam moved so that his hardness was pressed against Alida's thigh.

"You are exceptionally skilled with those beautiful lips," he muttered, raising his eyebrows suggestively. The duchess smiled and began kissing his chest, his stomach, her lips moving steadily down his torso. Adam caught his breath and arched his head back as she took him in her mouth. The lady-in-waiting stirred and he reached over to take her bosom in his hand. She giggled and moved towards him, kissing him deeply while the duchess continued her work on his manhood. Adam pulled the lady-in-waiting away from his mouth by her hair and sat up slightly to take one of her pillowy breasts into his mouth, biting down hard. The lady-in-waiting gasped. She was beautiful, Adam thought dimly, wondering what her name was for a brief second before realizing he didn't care.

"I'm next," the lady-in-waiting whispered, glancing down at the movement under the sheets in the area of the prince's groin. Prince Adam smiled arrogantly. It was almost too easy.

* * *

Belle walked fluidly through the market square while reading her book. The townspeople admired her beauty and grace even as they scoffed at her eccentricity. She moved effortlessly through the town without so much as glancing up from her reading material, weaving through crowds and between various obstacles. The truth was it wasn't difficult. The town was small, predictable, imminently knowable. Every morning was the same since the morning that she'd come to this poor provincial town just after her mother died. Oh how she missed the hustle and bustle of Paris, the theatrics of a big city, the teaming humanity. As a girl she would walk out her front door and never know what was going to happen, but now the only place she found excitement was in her books.

She supposed, apathetically as she turned a page, that Gaston would turn up any moment. It was just about that time.

"Good morning Belle," a deep voice said, intruding upon her listless musings. Right on cue.

"Good morning Gaston," Belle responded, without looking up. Gaston snatched the book out of her hands and looked at it with disgust. Irritation swelled in her chest as Belle brought her hands to her hips. The truth was that physically she was attracted to Gaston just like any other girl in town. She despised this fact about herself but couldn't deny it. Belle found Gaston's broad shoulders, big muscles, and blue eyes appealing despite herself. What she did not find appealing, however, was Gaston's brutishness. Gaston turned her book sideways as though he were looking for crude drawings of nude women and Belle rolled her eyes.

"How can you read this?" he asked, "There are no pictures!"

"Well some people use their imagination," Belle responded, thinking that all of Gaston's muscles were in his biceps rather than his brain. Ever the gentleman, Gaston tossed her book into a mud puddle.

"Belle, it's time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things, like me," Gaston told her. Belle frowned and retrieved her book from the mud, wiping it off on her apron and wondering how it was exactly Gaston had made it this far in life without being slapped.

"The whole town's talking about it," Gaston continued, "It's not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas…thinking?"

A man of the enlightenment Gaston wasn't. Belle glanced at the trio of Bimbettes that Gaston had bedded on countless occasions and wondered why he didn't make better use of his time by wooing them with his thoughts on how women shouldn't think. Word had it that Gaston was pursuing her because of her beauty, but Belle wasn't buying it. Gaston was a man who had never been told "no" by anyone, and so, naturally, he wanted what he couldn't have. His attraction to her stemmed not from an appreciation of her beauty, and certainly not admiration for her intelligence or personality, but rather that she was tantalizingly out of his reach. She knew this, though she doubted he had enough insight to realize it.

"Gaston you are positively primeval," Belle told him flatly.

"Why thank you Belle," Gaston responded with pride. Belle blinked. Yes, Gaston definitely didn't have much insight.

"What do you say we head over to the tavern and take a look at my trophies?" Gaston said, putting his arm around her presumptuously. She wiggled free of him and stepped away.

"Maybe some other time," she said, "I have to get home to help my father. Goodbye."

"That crazy old loon," crowed Lefou, Gaston's lackey, "He needs all the help he can get!"

Anger flashed through Belle and for a moment her vivid imagination allowed her to fantasize about chucking her book square in Gaston's face. Her natural grace and loveliness often obscured the fact that she had a temper, a formidable one.

"Don't talk about my father that way!" she snapped, "He's not crazy! He's a genius!"

These words were no sooner out of her mouth than a loud explosion came from the vicinity of her cottage. She gasped and ran towards her home, hoping her father hadn't hurt himself of set the house on fire. He was a good man and she loved him. She would defend him against anyone, protect him from anything. But she knew, as she ran over the cobblestone street to her home, that he was much changed by her mother's death. Once a successful merchant in the city, the loss of his beloved wife drove him to both the outskirts of his sanity and civilization, landing them in this one-horse town in the middle of nowhere. Maurice became obsessed with his odd inventions, tinkering alone in the basement endlessly while Belle saw to all the housework and looked after the old man. As Belle approached the basement doors and saw smoke billowing out, she allowed herself to contemplate, just for a second, what it would be like to be free from Gaston, this town, this provincial life.


	2. Responsibility

Adam strode towards the dining room in a tailored burgundy suit, a swagger in his step as his boots echoed off the vaulted ceilings of his sprawling castle.

"Master," Lumiere said approaching with a bow, "Will our guests be joining us for breakfast? Shall I place some extra settings at the table?"

"No need." Adam stated abruptly, continuing to walk and not bothering to so much as glance at his servant. There was nothing that irritated him more than having breakfast with his latest conquests, feigning interest in their inane chatter and watching them glance at him coyly over teacups.

"Master?" Lumiere pressed, "The duchess is a visiting dignitary. It seems we should at least provide her with breakfast."

Adam rolled his eyes. Weren't servants supposed to serve rather than endlessly pester him? What good was a castle filled with people paid to do his bidding if they questioned every word out of his mouth?

"You can bring them breakfast in the West Wing," Adam responded, waving his arm disinterestedly towards that part of the castle, "Then escort them to a carriage that will take them back to Versailles."

"Do you not wish to show the duchess more of the province?" Lumiere asked.

"As you said, she is a visiting dignitary," the prince responded, wondering why he allowed Lumiere such free reign to question him, "As such it seems she should practice her … diplomacy in the capital. Bring her breakfast, prepare the carriages, and see her and her lady-in-waiting out. Go."

Lumiere bowed again to the prince and hurried away towards the kitchen. As the prince approached the dining hall, servants hurried up to bow and open the doors to the room. The prince passed through the doors with choruses of "your highness," echoing in his footsteps without slowing his pace. He did stop short, however, when he saw his father already seated at the breakfast table. The prince's father eyed him with an unamused expression.

"Father," the prince said, dipping his head slightly and trying to keep the disappointment from showing on his handsome face. His father had a habit of showing up unannounced at the castle and overstaying his welcome. Which, since the prince never welcomed a visit from his father, happened very quickly.

"My son," his father said, "His royal highness, grandson of the king, prince of France, God help us all."

"France and God has you and my brothers. And grandfather, of course, who still rules," Adam responded, seating himself at the table and unfolding his napkin over his lap, "I'm merely here to pose for portraits and extend the proud Bourbon line."

"And gamble, drink, and debauch away all of your considerable allowance it would seem," his father responded.

"So it would seem," Adam retorted, bringing his teacup to his lips with a smug smile, "How long are we to have the pleasure of your presence here at the castle?"

"Don't worry," his father replied, "I'm merely passing through the region on a hunting tour."

"Ah, pity," Adam said sarcastically, "You know how dearly I miss you when you are away."

"Why have you not made official visits to the neighboring towns as I've asked?" his father asked.

"I've been busy," Adam responded. Suddenly, he spat out his tea in disgust and turned towards the servants angrily, bellowing, "Cogsworth!"

"Yes master?" the portly servant demurred, running up to the prince's side.

"Take this away and bring me some wine," he snapped.

"But sire," Cogsworth protested, "It's not yet noon."

"How astute of you to keep me abreast of the time, Cogsworth," the prince snapped, "Now do as I say and bring me some wine. NOW."

"The tea will do just fine," the prince's father interrupted, "Will you excuse us?"

"Yes your highness," Cogsworth said, bowing, before glancing at the prince with a worried expression and leaving the room.

"Do you mean to undermine my authority in front of the servants?" the prince snapped, glowering at his father.

"I mean to catch you in a rare sober state so I can talk some sense into you," the prince's father responded. Adam shifted in his seat and leaned on his elbow, sighing and bracing himself for a long boring speech.

"You are not a child anymore, Adam," his father reproached him, "You are approaching your 21st birthday. You must think far more of your duties to your family and to France."

"I am not a dauphin," Adam said.

"That does not absolve you of responsibility," his father replied. Adam rolled his eyes but his father pressed, "The king cannot be in all places at once. As a member of the royal family you must occasionally attempt to forge alliances for the crown in some place other than your bed. The people grow restless. The whole country is buzzing over the ideas of Monsieurs Voltaire and Rousseau. A handsome young prince showing some noblesse oblige to local commoners could go a long way towards earning some goodwill from the people. And, I daresay, it would do you well to think of someone besides yourself for a moment. After all, you'll be a father soon after your wedding."

Adam sulked. He hardly enjoyed being reminded that on his 21st birthday he was to wed a Norwegian princess whom he'd never met. Yet another family obligation it was his duty to fulfill. They had sent a small painting of her to him in a locket. She was pretty in the painting, but then, artists always took the liberty of making reality far more attractive than it was. Still, she was fair, blonde, and in her letters she loved music and dancing, which would make her quite pleasing at court. He only hoped she didn't talk too much, or for that matter ask too many questions. He was a French prince, and as such had absolutely no intention on ceasing any of his current amusements for the sake of his new wife.

"Noblesse oblige?" the prince asked, laughing, "I have a noble obligation to…what? Toss some coins into the town square of some backwater village and watch the peasants scramble to collect them?"

"You have a noble obligation to show patronage and charity," his father told him, "Neither of which are among your strengths. You will take a tour of the town and figure out what their needs are. A new road, repairs for the town hall, renovations for the asylum…I don't care what it is. You'll go, you'll talk to them, and you'll fund whatever public project has popped into their peasant heads."

"How incredibly dull," Adam said, taking a bite of his croissant.

"And yet you will carry out my orders nonetheless," his father responded flippantly, taking a sip of tea.

"And if I refuse?" Adam asked sulkily. His father gave him a grim smile.

"Such a shame you didn't pay more attention to your tutors, Adam," his father said, pinning him with a look as steely as his grey eyes, "Had you been more mindful, you would understand that an order is something you have no right to refuse."

* * *

Belle helped her father pack for his trip to the fair. He'd done it, he'd really done it. He created an invention that actually worked! A modern miracle—a woodchopper that succeeded in neatly chopping wood without blowing up the house. It was a labor saving device that might have some practical use in people's lives, meaning that perhaps it could be sold. At any rate, if it won first prize at the fair at least the prize money would be enough to pay some of the back taxes they owed.

Her father rummaged around the house for inventions that he felt would help him on his journey. These items included elaborate compasses that always pointed South rather than North (except when they didn't work), strange maps with symbols only her father could divine, a canteen that doubled as a telescope among others.

Belle smiled to herself as her father blundered around the house, muttering about dog-ragged clenchers. Though his suitcase was always overflowing whenever he left for a trip, her papa had a habit of neglecting to pack the most crucial items for a long journey. It was like this even when times were easier and her mother was still alive. She remembered her mother quietly removing the more nonsensical items in her papa's luggage and replacing them with clean shirts, handkerchiefs, and a pocket watch as her father blustered about his next big adventure. Belle smoothed a strand a chestnut hair that had come loose from her ponytail and placed rolls, a jar of jam, and some hard boiled eggs lovingly into her father's satchel. She looked up and caught his gaze. There was a sadness in his kind eyes that made her think he was missing her mother.

She held his bag out to him and he took it, heaving it over his shoulder and looking at her proudly.

"Thank you, Belle," he said, "I think I have everything I need."

"Did you pack long underwear? The weather's changing, the nights have been getting cold," Belle told him.

"Yes," her father responded, laughing, "And if I did forget I'm sure you packed a pair for me."

Belle smiled. He held his hands out to her and she took them.

"I readied Philipe," she told him. He squeezed her hands and then reached for his hat.

"Then I supposed I'm off to the fair," Maurice said, "Take care while I'm gone."

"Goodbye papa," Belle replied, walking him out of the door. He climbed up onto Philipe and waved to her as the old mare trotted off into the distance.

Her father needed this success. He needed to be reconnected with the world, valued for something, respected again. This invention could be the start of a new life for them, in many ways. She knew he felt guilty for how their lives had gone since her mother died, for not being able to give her the life he felt she deserved. Truly it wasn't the money she missed. She didn't mind hard work, simple clothing, or making do with not that much. What she craved was freedom, excitement, a life that contained choices beyond what type of soup she'd make for supper. As she went back inside to prepare some dough for the day's bread, she smoothed her apron and sighed. She didn't mind her little cottage or even the provincial town so much as how small her life had become. It was that feeling she struggled against day after day, like a lightening bug beating its wings in vain against the confines of a jar.


	3. An Arrival

Belle made her way through the town as deftly as ever. She was reading her books even faster than usual now that her father was away and there was no one she could really talk to. While she did enjoy his necessitated a visit to town to get a new book. Though as she had readied herself this morning the thought of going into town caused her pause. After all, Gaston had been by only last night to offer her a ludicrous marriage proposal, which she promptly and perhaps not so discreetly refused. She snickered to herself at the thought of him fuming in that mud puddle. But honestly, 6 or 7 strapping boys? With Gaston? His little wife?! As if that kind of future would make all her dreams come true. Ah, if only it were so simple. In truth, Belle didn't know exactly what kind of life would make her happy but she knew, as she ducked into an alleyway to avoid being seen by Gaston who was stomping through the market square looking distinctly grumpy, it didn't include him.

She noticed that the marketplace seemed to be more hectic than usual. Indeed, as she looked around, it appeared everyone in town was out of their cottages and at the market today. Looking more closely, she also noticed that the townspeople were wearing their finest clothing, starched jackets and voluminous skirts typically reserved for dances or church on Sunday. Belle began to suspect there was something happening in town that day, and as usual she was out of the loop. She sighed and continued to try to make her way through the thick of townspeople. Whatever it was, she doubted that she would find it very interesting. The townspeople were always fainting over themselves at the slightest deviation from their routine. Though she did feel distinctly sloppy among the townspeople's hats and boquets of flowers, and began to wonder if she should at least remove her apron. She absentmindedly attempted to brush the flour from the morning's bread off the fabric of her blue dress.

Suddenly the autumn air filled with the sound of horns and Belle looked through the crowd to see men dressed in uniform marching down the main street before turning smartly on their heels and coming to an abrupt halt. An ornate carriage flanked by royal guards rolled between the lines of men and came to a stop. A breeze fluttered, shaking loose some leaves from the overhanging trees and toying with the sashes of the guards.

A portly man made his way to the front of the lines of men and looked over the waiting townspeople, who looked back at him expectantly. He cleared his throat and the crowd leaned in to hear him.

"Presenting his eminence, his grace, his royal highness Prince Adam Auguste de Bourbon," the man announced in French colored with hues of a British accent. Belle squinted toward the carriage. What on Earth was the son of the king doing in a tiny backwater like her town? She had to admit, as footmen hurried to open the carriage door, she was curious to see what a royal prince looked like. She leaned forward, attempting to find a window in the crowd through which she could see better.

At first only a boot of the finest leather was visible, then the prince exited the carriage and turned toward the townspeople. Belle blinked. He was handsome, almost breathtakingly so. He was quite tall and broad through the shoulders, muscular with a confident bearing. His nose was Roman, his lips full, his jawline chiseled, and his blonde hair caught the sun so that he seemed radiant even without all the pomp surrounding him. Already the Bimbettes had lost consciousness, entirely overcome by the presence of a handsome prince in their midst. Belle suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and wondered why these faint women had not taken to loosening the laces of their stays.

He surveyed the crowd with an arrogant expression that appeared supremely disinterested in the sea of people standing reverent before him. As his eyes lazily swept over the crowd they met Belle's and stopped, holding her gaze with an unreadable expression. Belle saw that his eyes were his most striking feature, brilliant blue and filled with an intensity that betrayed the conceited indifference in his countenance. Belle felt a flush rising to her cheeks that she wished bitterly she could suppress. She hardly wanted to swoon over this prince, who no doubt was well accustomed to women fainting in his wake.

"Kneel, girl!" one of the townspeople next to her hissed, and she looked around to see that the entire town was in a full genuflect except her. Gracefully she sank into a curtsy, lowering her face to look at the ground. She detested displays such as this, that millions should grovel at the feet of another, of one who was born into wealth and power but had done nothing to earn respect. In defiance she remained in her curtsy but looked up and to her surprise found the prince was still watching her. He raised an eyebrow at her and cocked his head slightly to the side.

She was beautiful, so beautiful in fact that he was taken aback by it. He was not expecting to find such beauty among the tattered peasantry of some one horse town his father had forced him to visit. Her skin was as fine as porcelain, her doe-shaped eyes were a striking hazel, and her lips were shapely and as pink as rose petals. Yet he could see in her expression a spiritedness that bordered on rebellion. He thought for a moment that he should pull her from the crowd and make an example of her, at least threaten her with a flogging. After all, first she had failed to kneel and now she was looking at him so brazenly. But something unnamable stopped him, and instead he looked away from her and paced in front of the crowd, his arms tucked behind his back.

"Greetings," the prince said, "I am pleased to visit your … lovely town."

The townspeople remained kneeling, faces turned piously towards the ground. The portly man who had introduced the prince cleared his throat again and glanced meaningfully toward the crowd.

"Oh," the prince said nonchalantly, "You may rise."

Wordlessly the crowd straightened, but their eyes remained reverently pointed towards the ground. Belle, however, continued to watch the prince.

"The king has sent me as an envoy to survey your town," the prince continued in an emotionless voice that made Belle suspect that his speech was well-rehearsed, "Once I have a better understanding of your needs, the crown would like to fund an improvement project. Let this stand as proof that the House of Bourbon holds the welfare of its subjects in the highest regard."

The crowd murmured its surprise and gratitude. The prince continued pacing in front of his subjects, and as he approached them, the people in the crowd sank into the deepest bow or curtsy, muttering "your highness," and "your majesty," as he passed.

"If I may," a deep voice spoke from the crowd, "Volunteer to give you a tour of our fine town. You see, no one knows this town as I do."

"Step forward," the prince commanded. Gaston strode out of the crowd and stood in front of the prince. The men were roughly the same height and build, and walked with the same swagger in their step. The prince sized Gaston up with a calculating expression.

"I did not ask for a volunteer," the prince informed him curtly.

"Your majesty," Gaston demurred, "You will not find a more capable guide to this town. If you are to gain an understanding of this town, do you not want your information to come from the highest authority?"

"And you are the highest authority?" the prince asked, with a sneer, "Sir, the highest authority is God, followed by the King, my brothers and myself. You do not rank even close to the highest authority, or as any authority for that matter."

Gaston continued to stand in front of the prince, looking uncertain as to how to save face in front of the prince or the crowd. The prince waved a hand at him disinterestedly and continued to pace in front of the crowd but Gaston remained grounded to the spot where he stood as though his feet had sprouted roots.

"You have been dismissed, sir," the portly servant informed him. Gaston glared at him and stomped back into the crowd, glowering at the ground.

The prince continued to inspect the citizens of the town. Good heavens, couldn't they be bothered to fix themselves up when they knew a prince was coming to town? Dreary dresses, fuzzy looking wigs, jackets that had to be patched, the entire seen was exhausting him. And the town…hideous. A muddy boring pit. How was he supposed to fund a public works project for the improvement of this town when the country would be much improved if this entire country would be much improved if this entire sinkhole was razed to the ground? Of course his father would send him on this fool's errand knowing the entire situation was hopeless. The prince cursed him inwardly as the townspeople continued to watch him expectantly.

Now that he thought of it, he supposed that having a guide to the town may be helpful. After all, he knew nothing of these people, their lives, or their needs and lacked the compassion or creativity to even imagine what could be done to help them. Nor was he particularly interested in helping them. But he had his orders from his father. The prince considered the matter. No way would he follow in the clomping footsteps of that presumptuous dolt who had offered to be his guide. His eyes settled on the woman in the blue dress in the crowd. Well, if he was to be trapped in this pathetic excuse for a town surrounded by poverty and filth, he might as well have something pleasant to look at.

"You," the prince said to the girl, "Step forward."

Belle glanced around herself, wondering who the prince was addressing. The townspeople on either side of her nudged her and looked at her like she was crazy.

"Yes, you," the prince reiterated with irritation, "Step forward."

Belle made her way through the crowd as gracefully as she typically moved past any obstacle in her path and stood before the prince. She curtsied but did not hold it, rising to meet the prince's gaze. She was even more beautiful close up, the prince realized. The prince, not at all accustomed to being surprised at someone's beauty, needed to quickly compose his expression into one of disinterest as she looked up at him with her lovely eyes.

"You will be my guide to this town," the prince declared, "You will tell me everything I need to know."

"Your majesty," Belle protested, "I feel certain that there are many others who would serve as far more knowledgeable guides than I, might you—"

"I have made my decision," the prince interrupted, "And I have bestowed upon you a great honor. You would do well to display more gratitude."

"Very well," Belle responded, with the slightest hint of irritation in the undertones of her melodic voice, "Thank you, your grace. I will do my very best to be a worthy guide for our fair town."

"Very well," the prince said, gesturing an arm outward toward the town, "The tour begins now. Show me everything."

Belle nodded and began leading the prince and his retinue down the main street, toward the stands of the marketplace. The townspeople looked at each other in disbelief but dared not to voice their disapproval with the prince still in such close proximity. But honestly, of all the people to act as an ambassador from their town to a royal prince! The strangest girl in town who lived with her lunatic father on the outskirts of the village and had just rejected a marriage proposal from the only man who could make a proper woman of her? This was who would communicate their history, culture, and needs to the crown? It was almost too much, and the townspeople feared what crackpot project Belle would recommend for the town.

At the edge of the crowd, arms folded, biceps bulging, Gaston watched Belle lead the prince through the stands of the marketplace. He was not a man used to rejection, and here he had been soundly humiliated in front of the whole town not once but twice! First by Belle who had rebuffed his proposal and now by a royal prince who had refused his help! He glared after them. He decided then and there that he would have his revenge sooner or later, make no mistake about that.


End file.
